


there's something 'bout you (you steal the room)

by soldierwitch



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierwitch/pseuds/soldierwitch
Summary: Wanting Maria is something Michael’s grown used it. It’s a fact of his life. He likes liquor, a bit of trouble, and Maria giving him a hard time. It’s the way her lip curls around an insult. The way her breath hitches when he gets close. How he can see he’s getting to her when she grabs the edge of the bar. He like saying something slick just to get under her skin, using his words like his fingers trying to take a piece of whatever she’s willing to give.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	there's something 'bout you (you steal the room)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with Nobody by Martin Jensen and James Arthur for some time now mainly because it gives me so many Marichael feelings. So this fic is a product of those feelings, and I'm really happy how it turned out.

Michael knows Maria sings. She hums when she’s filling the Pony’s salt shakers. Occasionally, she’ll sing a line or two of a song that comes over the bar’s sound system. One time he walked in on her harmonizing with Rita, broomsticks in hand as they cleaned up for the night. He remembers how wide her smile was and how it widened when she saw him, “Hey, Guerin,” leaving her mouth in a sing-song fashion. Her eyes were twinkling and he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of her.

But it’s not until Texas that he realizes that Maria _sings_. The day had been shit and full of disappointment. The green in his pocket and the tequila in his system serving to make it marginally better. But when Maria grabs the mic his attitude lifts. She’s brighter than a star beneath the stage lights. It’s awing, and he finds himself unable to look away. 

Wanting Maria is something Michael’s grown used it. It’s a fact of his life. He likes liquor, a bit of trouble, and Maria giving him a hard time. It’s the way her lip curls around an insult. The way her breath hitches when he gets close. How he can see he’s getting to her when she grabs the edge of the bar. He like saying something slick just to get under her skin, using his words like his fingers trying to take a piece of whatever she’s willing to give.

His favorite nights are the ones she plays along with him. When she puts a little extra swivel in her hips because she knows he’s watching. How she’ll lean over the bar to distract him mid-sentence. Michael has no idea how she found out he likes her neck, but he swears the night she had her hair up and wouldn’t quit playing with her necklace chain was the night he was going to die of frustration. And she laughed like it wasn’t taking everything in him not to cross the line and tip kiss first into unknown territory with her. 

Michael has thought about having Maria every way she’d let him but hearing her sing switches all the lights on in his heart. She croons like a siren, and he nearly leaps off the bow of restraint to stand before her. Maria’s the one with an outstretched hand, but it feels like he’s reaching back. Her fingers in his hair feel like heaven but it’s sinning he has on his mind. 

He wants to nip at those fingers. Kiss them. Taste them on his tongue. That feeling doesn’t fade as the night goes on. It intensifies every time she opens her mouth. When she smiles, when she shifts in her seat. Michael wants to pull Maria into his lap. He wants to play with the silk tie of her pants, run his hands over her exposed sides, hear her say his name. He wants all her little sighs and her breath across his cheeks.

When she steps outside for air, he gives her five minutes. That’s about all he can take before he’s muttering to Max that he’s going to check on her. But checking on Maria turns into walking with her and being alone is both worse and better. Worse because he’s talking too much to distract himself from how much he wants her, and better because she’s softer when they’re alone. 

Maria’s all smirks and huffed laughter in the desert. She rolls her eyes and zig zags closer to him, their shoulders brush. Her teasing loses some of its edge like she’s stopped trying to prove she has the quickest draw in Roswell. But when she starts mocking him for getting them lost, Michael loses the fight with himself. He has to kiss her smart mouth. 

All Michael needs is a bit of quiet. Just a moment of silence so he can think. When he’s done he resists the urge to lick his lips and instead tries to get them back on track to what they were talking about but that’s the thing about crossing the line, there is no going back. Maria lets him have one sentence before she drags him over further and then they’re lips are sealed to each other and their hands are wandering.

They’re shucking their clothes fast, the heat between them like a struck match that’s burning quickly. The song Maria’s singing is just for him. A private concert. A symphony of her shivering hums and staccato moans. Her breath in his ears is rushed and bit through as she tells him what she likes. His whispers join hers. It becomes a duet. They’re moving at a tempo that’s going to leave them breathless, but he doesn’t care.

Michael’s wanted Maria since he first saw her dancing on the hardwood floors of the bar. He’s watched her flirt her way in and out of trouble for years. Seen her throw liquor back like it’s water. They didn’t move in the same circles in high school. Barely spoke in the years after it. But he remembers the night she took over the Pony. She was wild and so was her staff. They hooted and hollered, yelling, “For Mimi,” every time they took a shot.

Maria’s hips swayed in painted on jeans. Her shirt was tight. She was cruising for tips–her voice honeyed and her laugh bright–and the cash was flowing in. The bar was full, but when she passed him, she hesitated for a second before her smile turned genuine and she nodded at him before hopping back into the fray with a yell of, “Shots!”

When he caught her eye again, her hair was sweat out and poofy. She’d pulled it into a bun at the base of her neck. “Keep staring at me like that, Guerin, I’m gonna think you’re interested,” she said, sticking her pen in her bun.

He’d replied, “Who said I’m not?”

Maria rolled her eyes and said, “Your history with the girls in this bar.”

“Ah, but you’re different, DeLuca.”

“That may have gotten you out of paying before, Guerin,” she’d said, hands on her hips. “But it won’t now. I’m not Teresa. We take cash, card, check, and repairs. You’ve got 'til first of the month to pay up.”

She’d stepped closer to him, and he felt the room heat up. “I keep track of what I’m owed, and you, cowboy, owe me a hefty sum. Hope that liquor tastes good going down because you’ll be paying for it soon, Guerin.”

And she’d walked away leaving him with a dry mouth and a deep need to see her eyes spark again.

With her head thrown back and her neck exposed, Michael knows having Maria likes this is going to change things between them. He knows what she sounds like now. Every time he sees her he’s going to want to touch her. But they’re in this together. It’s her hands pulling him closer. It’s her voice whispering for him to go deeper. And it’s her smile breaking open in pleasure as he gives her what she wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
